Worthy
by intergalacticbooty
Summary: Cheap Sequel.
"W-Wha…?" Dean's response is nothing but a dazed nod in Roman's direction, the statement not fully registering to him in its entirety.

The Samoan licks his plump bottom lip nervously, trying his hardest to not torment Dean any further than he was tonight. Perhaps it was better the auburn-haired male was too lost in his thoughts, too exhausted, and didn't hear Roman's foolish slip up. "Nothing, baby boy. Why don't you lay back, okay? Sleep, ya gotta be tired."

"Ro…he's got my stuff…h-he took pictures…" Dean squirms a little then, twitching as he nearly melts into the soft cushion of the Roman-scented sheets. "Ro…"

"Don't 'Ro' me. Sleep. And stop worrying, it'll be alright." He pats the pillow near Dean's head, before sliding the smaller male up against it, damn near tucking him in.

"Where…where y-you going…" Dean manages to rasp out between a few yawns, tightening his hands around the pillow and burying his face into it. So soft and safe…so different from the penthouse she was in. It felt like a lifetime has passed since, despite probably being only an hour or so ago that Dean was properly grounded.

"Don't worry about it, alright? The hotel room'll be locked and I got the only keycard." Roman shrugs a zip up hoodie over his shirtless torso, Dean resisting the urge to trace his muscular chest with his eyes, and pulls his hair up into a bun.

The Ohioan doesn't have the fight left in him, a lot being lost hours ago, as he finally drifts off into a snoring, drooling mess that causes Roman's heart to melt. One small kiss to Dean's forehead later and the older male is gone.

"Who the fuck is it?" Seth yells through the door, limping towards the door and doesn't bother looking through the peephole. He still has Dean's shit in his room and a sickly, gaped grin plasters itself on his face as he pictures him there, the night's events running through his head on loop. "Is that you, princess? Couldn't stay away now, could you?" He unlocks the door, slowly sliding it open. "Just like a whore to come crawling back…shit."

"I ain't no, princess, Seth." Roman barges in, slamming the door behind him and in a swift movement pushing his ex-teammate down into the nearest velveteen loveseat. "Lemme see your phone?"

"C'mon, Rome, don't you wanna hang a little bit, hmm?"

"Give. Me. Your. Phone." Roman's now mere inches from Seth's face, their beards nearly touching as the larger male's hand curls around the top of the couch, part of the wooden frame breaking.

"I don't know why you can't use your own damn phone to make a call, man, it's just…" Seth snorts, a nervous kind of snort, not the humored or egotistical kind he's normally full of.

"Hand me your phone or I will personally fuck up your other knee." His jaw is tight now, impossibly tight as it clenches and unclenches and all humor, nervous or otherwise, is drained from Seth's face.

"You wouldn't fucking dare."

"Try me, shitstain." He leans forward then, clenching the hem of Seth's pajama shirt and flexing his fist, itching to pound this brat's face in. Before he can move any closer the two-toned male is shoving the phone in his face, a scowl and drawn down brow masking those previously amused features.

Roman flicks through his phone, a shaky breath slipping out his plump lips. Those lips that got to kiss Dean sweetly earlier. Those lips that are now being licked as he stares at the picture of pale skin covered in lingerie, fucked out and gorgeous and it makes a deep heat pool in the Samoan's stomach.

"Beautiful, ain't she? God, Rome, you should've seen him…he ate it up. Called me sir and everything. So fucking hot…" Seth's damn near half hard at the memory of it, fighting the urge to palm himself. "You were right, too, red really is his color."

He sucks in a breath then, quickly texting the photo to his own phone number, figuring there's no harm since Dean can barely figure out to text from his own, before smashing Seth's against the end table.

"What the FUCK man? I just got that." He's hobbling up onto his feet now, trying to intimidate the older man and failing miserably.

"You took it too fucking far, you son of a bitch. And you know it. I agreed to take care of him after, but fuck…" Roman starts pacing violently and Seth knows it's time to sit down, shut up, and listen to whatever he's told. He's not submissive, not a bitch like Dean, but he really doesn't want to die tonight. "…you fucking shoved your fist in him? Took a picture of him? That kinda shit…yo ass should know better than anyone else how fucking terrifying the consequences of that can be." He's steaming now, freckled face reddening.

"But he's sleeping peacefully, isn't he?" Seth says with a slightly amused glint in his eye. "I gave him something you can't, Roman. Always have, always will. And lemme guess…he kissed you, didn't he? And you liked it. Liked seeing him like that…liked him dripping and needy like a bitch. Always so needy, huh?" His voice is dangerously low, reminding Roman of a snake. The smaller male sits back down, content at the scene before him.

"I didn't-…I was just tryin' to help him. But you, you fucking let him leave with no aftercare. I should crack your goddamn skull open just for pulling that shit."

"Well, I never was good at taking care of my subs after. You know that. You were always the one that put him back together. Even if you didn't really know what we were doing and what you meant to him, he knew. He knew he could always trust you." He relaxes against the chair then, deciding it's comfortable enough. "Y'know, part of me thinks…maybe you could give him what I have."

"I'm not a piece of shit, unlike you." He retorts, leaning back with his arms across his chest.

"Fair enough, but…I've had my fun with him. Did for years and maybe I will in the future." Roman visibly tenses at that, looking like he's ready to pounce in at a moment's notice. "I said 'maybe' big guy." He continues, not making eye contact as he rubs his hands up the soft arm rests. "Not, well, not exactly what I give him. No one fucks as good as Rollins, but…I'm growing tired of this, Roman. I need to be away from you both, need to be my own goddamn man and I'm not going to be saddled with your drama anymore. Take care of him, all of his needs. And leave me out of it."

It sounds like a promising offer, but Roman can't imagine degrading Dean like that, can't imagine breaking him and leaving him to rot and wallow and it hurts to even imagine it. To even fathom administering that kind of pain to someone he cares for…loves, so dearly. "Where's his stuff at?" And Seth motions to the bathroom door before Roman gathers his things, quickly wanting to leave this penthouse and this night behind him. Long, long behind, and silently chastises himself the whole time for helping to play into Seth's little game. Measuring Dean's shoe size, checking his internet history and finding that feminization porn, picking out that lipstick shade, everything…he fed it all to Seth's sneaky little ear when he contacted Roman a couple weeks ago, relaying Dean's phone call.

"Just think about it, man. I think he'd…she'd really appreciate it." Seth says with a smirk, before the door to room 607 is slammed tightly shut.

* * *

Dean is calmer than he's ever been and it makes Roman boil in almost rage. Rage because Seth Rollins as fucking right. Because Seth Rollins managed to give Roman's boy something he couldn't. And Dean seems better for it.

They haven't talked about that night, haven't kissed or touched more intimately than normal and it's driving the older male wild. How can Dean just pretend it never happened? How can he sit here and expect Roman to forget the sight of him that night? So delicate, vulnerable and raw and needy and it's too much for him to think about. Although the Samoan reasons that if he hadn't sent that glorious picture of 'her' to himself from Seth's now deceased cell, staring at it in the wee hours of the night when his roommate is a ginger brown mop of sleep, he would be over this sick obsession.

But he couldn't bring himself to delete it and found his sexual frustrations just bubbling up and over, spilling over the top as he finds himself becoming more increasingly violent. That poor TV. He has no remorse for Hunter's head, though, but he knew he'd gone off the deep end when Jack Swagger of all people intervened, a dude Roman has spoken all of 3 words to in his life.

And he finds himself speaking more words to this dude, Swagger offering to take him out for a beer when Dean informs him he's hitting the hotel early. The Samoan is too riled up and accepts the offer from the huge blond. Can't hurt, can it?

"Never seen you flip shit like that, man." Jack chuckles around the bottle of his beer before taking a swig, leaning back on the swiveling chair rather playfully. "Not saying he didn't deserve it. Hunter, I mean…dudeth an asshole. Deserves that and worse."

"Then why'd you try and stop me?" Roman replies rather casually, despite the fire still burning underneath his skin.

"Do it at 'Mania, bro. Nab that title off his old ass on the grandest stage of them all. Really rub it in the Authority's faces." The younger male snorts and Jack pats him on the. "I'm starting to wind down, y'know…don't want to but there's a lot of lulling around. Need thomeone like you and Dean,…you guys still got fire."

"You're like…3 years older than me. Talking like you're old as hell."

"I feel it sometimes, 'thpecially without Toni around, but uh…" Roman's ears perk up a little at that, but he decides not to poke any further, finding it a bit peculiar. Weren't they ex-partners? Sure, he assumed they'd become at the very least decent with one another because they weren't at each other's throats like they were a year or so ago, but that sounded like longing in the larger male's voice. "Anywayth, man…Ambrose and you have been kicking major ass, like I said. He seemed…off for a while there. More than uthual."

"Hey…"

"No offense, I didn't mean it like that, but uh…he seems better now that you're back. Rejuvenated, even." And that causes a tan hand to tighten around the base of his beer. Because he's pretty sure that had to do with Seth ravaging him, not him being around more. "Speaking of Ambrose…" Jack continues in a soft voice, as if he's speaking to riled up animal and Roman snorts a little at how accurate that is a description of himself. "…you two, uh, y'know…" He motions slightly with his hands in a manner the Samoan doesn't quite get, the blond's cheeks turning a slight shade of pink.

"Are we? Oh…oh!" He rubs the back of his neck then, pretty damn sure he isn't drunk enough for this, but something about Jack's droopy blue eyes and leather jacket scream 'trust' and he doesn't try to think about how he reminds him a tad of Dean. "Nah, man, it's…'s not like that." Damn, he didn't mean to sound that dejected.

Jack's left eyebrow twitches up and a small smirk graces his pink lips. "Bullshit."

"I'm not lying, dude. We…it's not like that."

"You sure about that?" He retorts quickly and Roman wants to punch him for a fleeting moment, wishing he'd thrown the tv at the Oklahoman's head instead of dropping it.

"Drop it." His jaw clenches tightly before taking a long swig of his beer.

"Sorry, geez, I…shit, I didn't mean to offend you, dude." Jack tilts his head then, blue eyes going soft and wide. For someone who is rather stone-faced and quiet in the ring, the blond is incredibly expressive out of it and it bothers Roman a bit. "Just…you kinda look at Dean like how Toni does me thometimes…"

"And how does Antonio look at you?" Roman asks without missing a beat, wondering why in the fresh hell Jack is being so honest with him, why the hell he's sharing something that to Roman's knowledge is a secret to most of the roster.

"Like he wants to completely wreck me, dude. And he's made good on those looks, I'll tell you what." He snorts, a little bubbly but unashamed and the raven-haired man nearly spits out his beer. "It'th pretty damn obvious. You guys aren't slick at all."

Roman pictured Jack as an alpha guy like himself, but it makes a little sense the more he thinks over it. His jealousness with the Real Americans, eagerness to please, hot-headedness when he's ignored, and so on. Guess he shouldn't judge books by their covers, but he figures that's true for Dean as well. Who could see him and picture him as someone who likes to be taken care of in the way that Seth did? "What do you mean by 'you guys'."

"Dean wants you baaaaad, man." Jack slumps back, spinning the metal stool he's on, obviously more than a little tipsy. "You see how those teen girls look at you guyth? Multiply that shit times 1000 and it wouldn't be even half the look he gives ya." Another swig of his beer and Jack is standing up, leaving a $100 on the counter, for their beers before shooting Roman a toothy grin.

"You are not driving like that."

"Exactly, I'll be taking a cab." He retorts before the younger male can say anything else. "And Roman, if…if you and Dean are anything like Toni and me, don't wait any longer." He grows quiet then, leaning in slightly. "We waited so long and shit…it almost broke uth both. Just…think about it."

And with that, Roman is left in a nearly empty bar with a half drunk beer, staring down at that picture of 'her' with the Real American's words running through his head.

* * *

Dean is shivering violently, legs planted firmly against the bed's quilt as his hand tugs roughly at his length. "Fuck, fuck, fuck…" He groans out, pulling his foreskin back before quite literally humping against his hand.

God, he wishes it was Roman's hand. Wishes it was Roman grabbing at his sex, teasing him and whispering filthy sweet things he knows the older male is capable of. Dean is needy, always needy, but especially needy after that display of pure, raw dominance of his companion. He sneaks a lubed finger down, beginning to shovel it inside of himself. Roman's would be thicker, fill him even better. Dean's eyes roll back in his head at the thought of that fist being shoved inside him. "Please, oh please, fuck…fuck me, Ro…"

He's truly lost in his fantasy, been playing with himself since he got back to the hotel. He shrugged Roman off kindly under the guise of being tired just for this, replaying the anger and power of his friend's earlier performance and he wants, he aches to be a subject of it. The auburn-haired male's brain strikes a perverse and twisted node in his brain as he scurries off the bed, without pants but still dawning a loose tank top as he rummages through his carryon, hidden deep in one of its numerous pockets he finds it. Stoplight Red 911D, picked up from a Dollar Store a couple towns over, the flimsy plastic wrap still keeping it closed and fresh before he yanks it off. He didn't have the guts to use it until tonight, rushing to the bathroom and smearing it over his mouth, sloppy and uneven but it will do in his lust-filled craze.

"I can be your whore, Roman." He coos at his reflection, running a finger against the mirroring of his lips. "I know 'm not really pretty, but hurt me, please, oh…" And out of the corner of his eyes he spots Roman's boxers he had changed out of earlier that day before RAW. Dean slinks over to it quickly, not even thinking of what a violation of privacy it is to shove it into his face, inhaling that sweet scent before shoving fingers back into himself. "Oh, s-…" And Dean stops himself before he can say 'sir', because it doesn't fit someone as sweet and big as Roman. "…oh, mmm, Daddy…" He whimpers, shoving the dirty clothing against his face and into his mouth, fingers still buried deep inside of himself, wishing for a fleeting moment he could break his hand and shove his entire fist in.

"Oh god, 'm…oh…" Dean is panting now, the images becoming more vivid in his head, Roman yanking at his hair, fucking his throat, slamming into his ass as he claws at Dean's back in a soiled alley because a whore like him, an unfaithful whore that's run off to be fucked by scum like Seth doesn't deserve the decency of a bed. "…I'm a dirty cunt, Daddy, um…s-so sorry, please, oh…please!" Soon he's shoving the black material, moist from his hot mouth and body sweat and he's shoving it between his thighs, effectively grinding it while fucking himself mercilessly.

Dean comes to the sound of the keycard clicking the door open, thanking whatever God there might be that he had the decency to shut the bathroom door. But he's made a mess of Roman's briefs, his come and lipstick all over it and he's shivering, mind still in a daze as he fantasizes about sliding out of the bathroom and crawling on all fours to present himself to Roman.

But he snaps out of it quickly when the bathroom door is twisted. "Taking a shit!" He screams out instinctively, his voice too high and raspy and he would kick himself if his legs weren't absolute jelly.

"Gross, dude." Is uttered through the door, but it's said in warm laugh. So much like Roman and it makes Dean more lost than ever.

* * *

Hours go by that night and Dean falls into a deep slumber, sated for the time being as he listens to his Samoan's gentle snoring. In his sleep he thinks about the boxers he managed to shove into the bottom of his duffle, the slightly pink hue to the cheeks of a buzzed Roman. He dreams of crawling into the other bed, burying his face into Roman's essence, into his warmth, and never leaving it. But at some point the dream goes sour and there's the sound of a phone's camera clicking and a wide, gapped grin and suddenly Dean is woken to a freshly showered and concerned friend.

"Uce, you…you okay?" Warm, so warm, such large hands. Roman's hands could nearly fit around Dean's tiny waist, would certainly fit perfectly over his throat.

"'M good…just, y'know…the fangirls were chasing me is all." He chuckles, before nudging their foreheads together, an intimate and brotherly greeting the two had become accustomed to.

"Course they were…handsome thing like yourself." And there's crinkles at the older male's eyes, grey sliding shut in a small but warm chuckle and Dean's heart is hammering in his chest and he wants. He wants more than he ever wanted Seth and it aches because he knows he's not worthy, knows he can't have what he desires. So he kisses the inside of that tan palm, part of his heart cracking.

"Thanks, Ro."

The days slip but rather quickly, Wrestlemania breathing down both their necks and Dean's on edge. He knows the odds are stacked against him, is particular aware of it when he's clotheslined and F5ed on the go home RAW, left in his sweat and pain and Roman's nowhere to be found because he's chased Triple H to go knows where.

Dean doesn't blame him, silently encourages him but he knows they need to be more independent, that there's no tag matches at Wrestlemania and it scares him. Not the physical pain he himself will endure at the hands of the Beast Incarnate. Dean's taken worse and will undoubtedly take worse in the future. He's worried for Roman, his uce, his brother and would be but can't be lover and the idea of his championship being taken from him makes Dean's blood boil.

There's an ice back firmly laid across Dean's chest when the older male comes stumbling into the hotel room, all sweat and exhausted anger and he pulls up a chair silently, sliding the ice from Dean's chest and running a finger over the forming bruise.

"Lesnar really got you …I'm sorry I wasn't there."

"You were taking care of your business, man. Can't fault you for that. I'm a big boy." And without missing a beat, Roman begins brushing some of that sandy red brown hair from Dean's face, giving him a sweet smile and Dean wishes he could kiss each freckle until he's out of breath.

"You know taking care of my baby boy comes first. Always comes first." He says shakily, before taking the partially-melted ice back off Dean's neck. The skin is reddened there from pain and the chill and Roman fights the urge to hike up the younger male's shirt and suck those small nubs into his mouth. There's tension building in the room, something palpable and heavy and heady and Roman shrugs off the bed to the bathroom.

"Gonna shower?" Dean asks after a moment, Roman dumping the ice pack into the hotel sink before turning on the shower.

"Yeah...feeling sticky and…well a little bit like ass." He hears a small, exhausted snicker from Dean and then silence. Roman slides back out of the bathroom, finding Dean passed out sitting upright. "Oh, baby boy…" He coos, wrapping him up in a limp bundle, holding that lithe body up with one arm. He manages to nudge the sheets back with one hand before laying the comatose Dean down.

Deciding after a moment that his shower can wait, knowing how uncomfortable it is to sleep in tight ass jeans, Roman spots Dean's duffle bag and begins rummaging around in it. There's a pair of soft plaid pants that have probably been with Dean since his days under the nickname Jon. He gently strokes the material, thinking of all the motels and roadtrips his friend has worn these to and it makes him smile.

But then something catches Roman's eye….a pair of underwear he's been missing for quite a few days now and he tilts his head curiously. It wasn't bizarre for them to accidentally mix up laundry, but Dean usually just shoved the clothes back to Roman when he realized he could fit another one of himself into them (although he wouldn't protest the Ohioan wearing them). Except…these are dirty. They're crunchy and the smell of week old sexy fills Roman's nose and his eyes are wide. And then he looks closer and there's lip prints all over it…a deep, familiar red and a gasp is nearly punched out of him.

The younger male stirs on the bed and Roman is shoving his boxers back in quickly, eyes widening to cartoonish portions and as tube of red lipstick falls out. "Shit, fuck…" He hisses out, trying to cover up his snooping, his discovery, and willing himself to calm down. Originally he was just going to tug Dean's jeans off and put those plaid pants on himself, but he doesn't think he can handle it without wanting to jump that pale body and cover it with his hands and lips and tongue. "Dean, Dean…" He gently taps the younger male's side.

"Hunh?" A bit of rummaging and he's glaring up at Roman with bloodshot eyes.

"Put these on, gonna be mad uncomfortable if you sleep in jeans." He lays those soft pants down next to Dean, quickly rushing the bathroom, relieved to find the running shower still hot before locking the door.

And he lets out a deep groan, sliding off his bulky ring gear in a flurry of exhaustion and arousal. Those were HIS boxers. That was…,god that looked like Dean's lipstick and, fuck…was that Dean's cum? The thought of it all. Roman was hard and aching under the burning hot shower spray and he wants nothing more than to lavish that pale flesh, slide that lipstick across those pretty little lips, drown him in jewels and pretty things, and taste every each of his flesh.

He's stroking himself in earnest, caramel skin turning a brownish red under the boiling heat of the spray, muscles relaxing as he comes to the image of sweet, soft pale skin with ginger body hair. To the thought of 'her' finally becoming his.

God, Roman wants.

* * *

It's Wrestlemania Sunday morning and Dean's skin, the very surface of it, is nearly vibrating. He's wrestling Brock fucking Lesnar in less than 12 hours. He stares up at the hotel room's ceiling fan, trying to change the direction of its spinning instead of focusing on the fact he's the only one in the room.

"Got you some of those blueberry muffins you love so much, baby boy…" Roman's back and there's an easiness there, Dean relaxing back against the bed. He could always depend on the older male's presence to add a level of contentment to his own erratic personality.

"T-Thanks…" It's a shy rasp as he sits up, snagging the muffin and scarfing it down. He was a nervous eater and pouts slightly as Roman ruffles his hair gently. And before he can do anything else, he fucking cries. Dean fucking Ambrose starts sobbing his eyes out. It's worse…even worse than that night and Roman is there in a flash, coffee and other pastries forgotten on a hotel end table.

"Shit, Dean…what's wrong?" It's an urgent phrase, but still loving and supportive as Roman places a reassuring hand at the back of Dean's neck. Instantly the younger male's breathing steadies slightly and he's pulled into the warm grasp of his best friend. If tears could stain, Roman's shirt would be a mess of colors.

"I-I'm not ready…I don't, and y-you…" It's so unlike Dean, the Samoan thinks at first. But that's not fair to him. It is Dean, another side of him that's been creeping up more and more as the pressure becomes too much, as Roman leaves him to himself too often and he can't bear it any longer. He pulls the younger, blubbering male up to meet his eyes. Gray and blue clash and soon their lips do.

Not rough or violent or angry or the clashing of teeth that Dean has had with Seth. No, this is soft and warm and passionate and needy. So needy. Roman is hungrily sucking his tongue in, licking the caverns of his mouth thoroughly, sucking on a thin bottom lip before nuzzling the smaller male.

"O-Oh, Ro…I…" Dean whimpers then, trying desperately to catch his breath as he idly traces the older male's tattoo with a shivering finger. His mouth…it felt so right, so perfect, but he wants more, needs more. "…lemme take care of you."

"Dean…"

"Please, ya always do so much shit for me, man…lemme make you feel good for once. Let me make you come." A shaky sigh leaves those plump lips that Dean has had the honor of ravaging, but the older male simply pulls him into his lap and gives him a tight squeeze.

"I want you, Dean. God knows I do, but…" He tilts his chin up then, brushing some of that reddish-brown mop out of his eyes. "…not yet. I wanna make it perfect for you, baby boy." The auburn haired male's eyelids flutter shut as Roman speckles them with soft kisses. "Gonna make it special…give you what you need, I promise."

He had heard those words from Seth before and it was strange hearing them from Roman. But he trusted him, more than he ever had Seth and more than he believed he would anyone else. Part of him felt undeserving, unable to fight the words that followed. "I don't deserve you, Ro. 'm not…not worthy of someone like you."

"No, you're not." And it feels like someone has punched Dean's gut until Roman chuckles. "You're worthy of someone better than me. Someone who could've taken care of all your needs without hesitation." And Dean nuzzles into his chest then, shaking his head in disagreement. Roman did more for him than he ever understood. "But I'm gonna make it up to you, believe that. And believe we're gonna kick Lesnar's and Hunter's asses to the curb tonight."

Dean chuckles at that, leaning up and kissing Roman's Adam's apple before brushing his fingers along his beard. For the first time in a long time, he is truly at peace.

* * *

They had really gone all out with the entrances and attires this year, Dean idly thinks as he makes his way around backstage. Nearly 1/3 of Wrestlemania is done and he's been pleased by the outcomes thus far, but something fascinates him about the look of it all.

The New Day are bright and vibrant as ever, their attires more pink than blue this time as they rode in on a chariot of 'unicorns'. Their power of positivity was still spilling backstage into catering and the trainer's room despite the grueling match that saw them retain the tag titles. Dean rarely interacted with them, but he had danced himself into a few of their house show celebrations. Always a good time.

There was also Jack Swagger's attire, which had thrown the younger male for a loop. He had been taking more notice of the blond since a small friendship had blossomed between him and Roman, so it had taken him even more by surprise when he saw him in a pure white singlet, red and white detailing the pattern of stars and stripes. And it looked like there was a shiny, latex material to it that caught the waning sunlight perfectly. Even more perfectly when Swagger held that trophy high up, shocking the world as an unexpected victor of the Battle Royale.

Then there was Shane McMahon and the Undertaker's match. Entrances and attires were the level that Dean had anticipated. What he hadn't anticipated was good ol' 'Taker tombstone pile driving 70 year old Vince, he and Shane leaving HIAC simultaneously. RAW was going to be quite the show. But the night was not over and Dean's match was next.

Roman is there, special locker rooms set aside for bigger names on the card and the Ohioan chuckles at the fact he's one of these 'bigger names'. The Samoan had been gone for several minutes, the costume department helping him get on his specially made ring gear.

It looked like armor, Roman's symbol being etched into the hard plastic of the chest plate. He looked like a superhero or some shit and Dean's tracing the ab outlines and contours of this beautiful piece of artwork. So fitting for his Ro. He can't explain to the other male how he feels. Unworthy, undeserving, a lowly piece of trash next to a Greek god that shouldn't give him the time of day. But when Dean finishes taking in his ring gear Roman is staring at him like he's something fragile and special and it makes him squirm. "You look awesome, man. Really outdid themselves."

"Thanks, man…I…you don't look so bad yourself." Dean snorts at that, opting to wear what he always wears. Nothing flashy really fit with him. He couldn't wear armor like a hero like Roman or sparkles like the New Day or bright, vibrant patriotic shades like Swagger. Dean is just Dean. Dingy and messy hair looking redder than normal with the sun naturally bleaching it, a black t-shirt with his symbol on it and sleeves crudely cut off, and those tight fitting jeans and black shoes to top it off.

"Look at you sweet talkin' me…no reason to lie, man." The younger male slumps slightly, arms crossed over his chest. "Show of shows…fighting Brock Lesnar and I still look like I jus' rolled out of a trailer park."

"Hey, now, you're fuckin' beautiful, baby boy…" Gray eyes firm and Dean notices a hand is firmly hidden behind the older male's back. "…but, y'know…I thought maybe you'd like something special for the night." And finally his hand slides forward, revealing a sizable brown paper bag and the younger male tilts his head curiously. "I had this specially made for you…you don't have to wear it but I thought…"

He takes it from Roman's outstretched hands, eyes widening as he opens it. "Holy fucking shit, Ro, you didn't…" A straitjacket. And it's amazing. A dingy brown-gray color with patchwork on it, Dean's 'DA' symbol patched over his left chest, the sleeves hanging long and low put can be securely strapped higher and a buckle in place to go over Dean's crotch tightly. There's other patchwork there, markings and symbols and he's pretty sure Roman managed to sneak in 'Explicit Mox Violence' patch into the lower left of the jacket. But what shocks him the most is a kiss imprint, eyes going wide. Stoplight Red 911D and he gawks. "This…this is…"

"You like it?"

"I fucking love it, man, I…Jesus…" And he's getting goddamn teary-eyed, but the Samoan quickly brushes the tears away, kissing his forehead and nuzzling their noses together. "…c-can you help me get it on? I'ma wear it…"

Roman works dutifully, securing the 7 straps behind Dean's back first, leaving the sleeves free for him to flail around during his entrance. Then the older male slides down to his knees, pulling the final strap between Dean's legs and said legs begin to buckle. There's a heated gaze in those gray eyes and Dean wants nothing more than to get on all fours and beg, the position of someone like Roman beneath him foreign and causing a bizarre itch deep inside. The moment is tense and intimate, Dean's pupils blown and Roman's breath shaky but it's seemingly gone in a flash as it's buckled tightly and Roman is back upright, looming over Dean slightly.

"T-Thanks, Ro…" He rasps and then he's pulled into a biting, hungry kiss and is nearly panting. Oh God, they both want it so badly.

"You're welcome, baby boy…" A gentle petting down his thigh as he's called by a stagehand, a first rapping against the door, telling Dean his match starts in five minutes. "…whoop his ass."

"You got it."

* * *

Dean is nothing but a ball of adrenaline, kicking out of his second F5 to a bloody Brock's dismay and Heyman is screaming like his dick's been bit off, but it's just a hazy ringing in the back of Dean's mind.

He's covered in blood, not sure what is his and Brock's as he wipes at his bleeding lip, spitting against the mat before stumbling to his feet, sliding out from under the ropes before the meathead can grab him. Dean's aware of the tight strap around his crotch getting even tighter, eyes wide and wild because this kinda thing always gets him excited, bleeding and aching and pushing his body to its limits and past them will never not be a source of arousal. God, he wishes Roman could be ringside and he hopes, prays he's making him proud.

Rummaging under the ring he pulls out Barbie, a sick grin splitting his face in two and those dimples showing through layers of sweat, blood, and scruff and he's scampering back in the ring, jumping onto Brock's back and beating his face in with the hardcore legend's weapon.

Brock is screaming, downright cursing and yelling but Dean's latched onto him, not stopping his assault until he's being flung across the ring, crumbling into the corner where his head hit a steel chair that had been wedged against the turnbuckle. The larger male is ready to pounce on the opposite side of the ring and Dean is staggering to his feet. One more F5 and he's one, Brock has the upper hand and he's faster than Dean, able to take quicker and longer strides and Dean knows he has to close that distance and fast if he wants any chance of surviving.

He does the one thing he can think of, something that's never been part of his arsenal but that seems just, seems right.

"SPEAR! A SPEAR, A SPEAR BY AMBROSE!" Michael is screaming as thousands watch live and millions in their home and Dean is up on his feet, hooking his arms under Brock and before he back counter, there's Dirty Deeds.

Time seems to stop in that moment, Dean is hyper aware of everything: the crowd, Heyman's yelling, commentary talking a mile a minute, and somewhere deep in the back of his mind he hears a rumbling sweet voice: 'That's my boy'.

One. Two. Three. Dean is victorious. He's conquered the Beast that conquered the Streak and the crowd is deafening and then suddenly Dean's pulled into a goddamn hug by the older male and he thinks he must have a goddamn concussion because everything is a blur and Lesnar doesn't do hugs.

"Did fucking good, kid. Damn good."

It's a haze, everything is a haze and Dean isn't brought back to himself until he hears someone flop down in the chair next to him. His jaw is being stitched at the bottom where it had been busted from god knows what and he visibly tenses.

"Almost done…" The medic says before snipping the tiny thread off, leaving all of Dean's wounds tended to the best of his ability at the time. "…wonder you don't have a mild concussion. Looks like you worked Brock over way more than he did you."

There's a smirk then by the person next to him and as the medic leaves to give Dean time to rest, he finally turns to face his companion. Swagger. He's all big toothy grins, his own eyebrow having been patched up from a clobbering blow from Big Show before he slouches forward.

"Roman wanted me to check on you. Suckth that you're keeping you guys apart." He begins then, knowing that Dean must be impeccably proud, but all nerves as he waits patiently, staring at the tv screen as a promo for the upcoming main event plays. "He'll be fine, Dean."

"Triple H is a goddamn snake and Roman's just walking right in on him." He blurts out, knowing it isn't fair to doubt Roman, because he doesn't. But he's weary of the Game, knowing anything goes in these matches and that there's too much on the line to think it will come down to nothing but pure in ring skills.

"You guys got this fire, bro." He starts, remembering having a similar conversation with the Samoan multiple times. "You just beat Brock goddamn Lethnar…" A large hand clasps Dean's shoulder and gives it a squeeze. "…be proud of yourself. Roman sure as hell was and he'll pull through."

Dean smiles at that, mentally deciding Jack is a cool dude before he leans back, watching the match begin to unravel. He's enamored by Roman, hands tightly picking at his wrist tape as he sees him dominate Triple H like few others have. It's amazing. That's his boy, his man, absolutely tearing the ring apart and the crowd loves it and there's a lustful rumbling deep in his stomach. Did Roman get as bothered beating others as Dean did getting beaten? He hoped for it. Or maybe she did.

The trance is only broken when the auburn haired male notices there's another body in this room. Cesaro of all people is here, his arm in a sling as he leans down and whispers something in Jack's ear, before stroking the back of his neck soothingly with his uninjured side.

"Well I'll be damned…" Dean snorts then and the two stare at him, a slight glaze over Jack's eyes and it's something he feels he's seen in his own reflection before. So…that's how it is between them. And he notices that if he stares a little closer, there's a line across Jack's throat, something the perfect width of a collar and it makes the youngest male in the room's cheeks turn a tad shade red.

"W-We should get going, Hoss…you've been up all day and I want to celebrate…it has been quite too long since I have seen you." A kiss at his temple then, figuring it's harmless since Dean isn't dumb and they've got truly nothing to hide.

"Yeah, but uh…Dean, bro, you okay?"

"I'm good…jus' gonna stay and watch Roman's match."

"Naturally." Antonio peeps out and with a quick goodbye the couple leaves Dean to himself, eyes glued to the screen as the expertise of both men is consistently showcased.

Roman is closing in on a victory, Dean can fucking feel it in his gut and he knows that no matter what the stagehands do or how much they protest, he's going to go out there and celebrate the victory with his Ro.

These positives thoughts are quickly drained from his body, though, as the warm and excited buzzing is doused with ice cold water when a ref is knocked out and a two-toned rat is crawling from underneath the ring, a sledgehammer in hand.

* * *

Autopilot. His body is on autopilot and the straining and groaning of his muscles full on deaf ears as Dean is pushing through wrestlers and producers and stagehands because he will not let that piece of garbage ruin Roman's night.

The look of utter shock and disbelief on Seth's face when Dean slides through the ring, Roman making the briefest of contacts with them as he runs a hand down his spine, before slipping out and landing right next to the weasel is absolutely priceless.

Seth catches himself quickly, though, holding the sledgehammer in a tight grasp and sneering at the slightly older, scruffy male. "Aw, did princess wanna come out and play?"

Dean snarls then and Seth knows he has royally fucked up, being tackled by the lithe body. All the repressed sexual arousal, anger, and tension is unloaded on Seth's face and chest. The sledgehammer is forgot for a moment until a spare fist brushes against it.

Meanwhile Triple H is stammering to his feet, the ref having come around and Roman is readying himself a superman punch, executing it effortlessly as Dean picks up the sledgehammer, crushing a spare piece of announce table next to Seth's head. As Roman lifts Triple H's thigh for the three count, he places a booted foot against Seth's chest.

He swings the sledgehammer over his shoulder, glaring down at that rat that had brought 'her' into being. Dean supposes he should be grateful, but the prospect that he might cause his love's (holy shit he was in love with Roman) dream to be crushed meant that he was enemy number 1. "Now who's the bitch?"

"Here is your winner and new WWE World Heavyweight Champion, Roman Reigns!" Dean is on him like white on rice and Roman pets through his mop of reddish-brown locks, eyes wide and loving and warm.

They'd done it. They'd both been victorious. Sure, there would be a hell of a lot more drama to come, what with Hunter and Seth stumbling down the ramp as confetti fills the ring, but fuck it. That was tomorrow. Tonight, they were victors. And they could tackle anything together.

And tonight called for a celebration, with Roman having just the perfect plan.

* * *

"You wanna go out for drinks or somethin', Ro?" Dean asks, beaming as the new champ slips the card key to their hotel room for the night.

"I had something else in mind to celebrate, baby girl…" Roman kept Dean's eyes covered, but gently lead him into the room.

Dean's breathe hitches at that, dropping his duffle to the ground as he walked into the bedroom. "W-What?" His heart was hammering in his chest, mind swimming instantly as the hotel room's door was closed behind him. Roman's hands sneaked up slowly, sliding his jacket off and giving the back of his neck a small kiss.

"We don't have to, babe, but if you're ready…I got some special things for you." Dean nods shakenly, feeling almost drink despite not a drop of bubbly having hit his lips. Roman had called him baby 'girl'. Was it an accident? Had Dean hit his head too hard? And now it seemed like Roman was propositioning him.

"I-I'm ready, Ro, any…anything you can give me, I want. I want you, 'm ready…" The last word is barely above a whisper and Roman slides his hands down slowly, revealing the room to Dean.

Roman was the one who had gotten the room this time, deciding to splurge after Mania instead of going back to the room they had been in that morning, he insisted on getting them a fancier room to celebrate or lick their wounds and the younger male relented. It was a penthouse suite, but this one was warm and welcoming and classy, almost retro. And he was sharing it with Roman, so what could be better?

But what shocked him was what was in the room. Roman proved himself to be a sneaky, romantic bastard. There was an iced bottle of expensive wine, flowers all over the king size bed, and chocolate covered strawberries on a golden platter.

"Y-You spoiling me too much, Ro."

"You deserve it, baby…" He kisses right underneath Dean's ear, before leading him to the loveseat across from their various delicacies, instantly stopping Dean's hand before he can reach for a piece of fruit. "I don't think so, sweetheart." And the younger man's head is spinning as he sucks the chocolate and fruit from Roman's own fingers, making sure to lick at the pad well after the sweet, sugar taste is gone.

"The things you do to me, girl…" Roman toys with the feminine terminology, pleased with the results as Dean turns slightly redder with each mention.

They make quick work of the wine and remaining chocolate-y fruit, Roman having slid Dean's shoes off to rub at was undoubtedly sore feet. The Ohioan consistently protests, saying Roman is doing too much, that Dean should be doing more for him and that he JUST got down with a championship match and Roman quirks an eyebrow at that. "That's nothing compared to what you went through, what you've been going through. So I don't wanna hear anymore of this nonsense about you not deserving it."

"B-But Ro…"

"You wanna do something for me, baby?"

"Yeah, yeah I do…" He says eagerly, shifting forward and into Roman's lap, beginning to kiss at that strong, defined jawline. Such a contrast to his own chubby face.

"Let me continue spoiling you. It makes me feel good…I like making you feel good and taking care of you. And I got some more surprises for you."

"Shit, Daddy, you couldn't've done anything else…" Dean turns red at the idea of Roman having another surprise for him, but even redder when he realizes the nickname he had used in his mind had slipped out.

"Daddy, huh?" Oh no, Dean fucked up, BIG TIME. Roman's face had gotten tight, his brow creasing together before he spoke. "…you like calling me Daddy, baby girl?"

"Mmhmm…" Dean nods matter meekly, picking at the insides of his shredding jeans, not meeting Roman's gaze until those large, warm, tan hands tilt his head up. He's pulled into a wet, sloppy kiss that has him gyrating his slender hips against the broad frame.

"I like it…keep calling me that." The smaller male nods shyly, before letting out something painfully close to a squeak as Roman lifts him, carrying him into the bathroom. "What…what'd you like me to call you? Is…is baby girl okay?"

Dean is sitting on the marble countertop he sure isn't made for asses, chuckling at Roman's bashfulness as he fills the impossibly large Jacuzzi bathtub thing with bubble bath. God, his Ro, his uce, his love…was fucking adorable. "Um…I-I, like, when we're out and about…I like when you call me baby boy and your brother and Uce and stuff…" He looks down nervously before continuing, afraid to meet that gray gaze no matter how much lust is within them. "…b-but when we're alone like this, I love it when you call me baby girl. I…y-you can call me other things, t-to…I like being called a slut."

"Dean…" There's a hint of warning there, a small lecture about 'don't talk poorly about yourself' on the tip of Roman's tongue but Dean continues before he can protest.

"N-Not like that…not like how it was with him. I-I wanna be your slut. Not just anyone's. I want to be yours, I want…I like to be called those things b-because it turns me on. Has nothin' to do with feeling bad about myself." He smiles then, taking in a deep breath like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders and he meets those gorgeous eyes and Roman nods.

It takes all their power not to fuck in the Jacuzzi, if he's being honest. Their bodies are somehow ache-y and tired yet alive with electricity and arousal like nothing either man has experienced. But he manages to keep it mostly PG, keeping his hands above Dean's waist, washing the young male's curly mop as Dean adds to Roman's beard with bubbles.

It's innocent, playful, and for a moment Roman forgets about the erection he has and the hard-on of Dean's he can feel digging into his hip. He wants to take him, wants it right now but he fights the urge. After all, he has to give Dean the last of his presents.

"C'mon, sweetheart." Roman coos to him, beginning to drain the Jacuzzi as they both slide out. He insists on rubbing Dean down with the plush, soft towels having made quick work of his own post-bathing ritual. Blue eyes are soft, doe-y and he absolutely loves seeing Dean like this. "I got some things for you….I…I want you to use them for me, baby. Just don't protest, okay?"

Dean quirks his head at that, but nods slowly. Were they going to use toys? That could be kinda fun…but he was more interested in having that fat, monster of a cock inside him that belonged to Roman as opposed to something artificial. But he trusted Roman, always did, and thinks nothing of it when the older male leaves, returning with several item between his arms. He lays them next to Dean on the counter. Blue eyes become wide, full of wonder as a long, slender black box is handed to him.

"R-Ro, what did you do? What did you…"

"Just open it." And Dean obliges and inside is a teardrop-shaped black plastic tube, gold spikes and a diamond shaped cap on top and he gawks for a moment. This was Louboutin Velvet Matte lipstick. A container for this ran $90.

"J-Jesus, fuck, Ro, you…" He pulls the cap off, greeted with a brilliant shade of rouge that takes his breath away.

"Only the best for my best girl…" His heart hammers at that, and Dean leans forward, giving him a soft kiss.

"Can I show you what else I got you?"

"Y-Yeah, yes…please…" Dean fights the urge to protest, to say he doesn't deserve such nice things but the look of wonder on Roman's face means that, in some ways, he needs to dote on Dean as much as Dean laps up any ounce of affection he can get.

A Tom Ford eyeliner pen, probably worth more than $50, a brand that Dean's never heard of eyeshadow, but the title of it is 'Crown Jewels' and when he opens it he finds a brilliant blue that's deeper and richer with what looks like damn near small flecks of diamonds in it. MAC brand plus, a deep and rosy pink that looks even deeper than Dean's skin color when he's had too many beers and too much sun.

"These are all so beautiful, I…oh God…so pretty…"

"Gorgeous lady needs gorgeous things…" Roman caresses his cheek then and gives him a small peck. He'd love to ravage the smaller male now but he's not done yet, not in the very least. "…which is why I knew my little slut would need something nice to wear."

Dean's heart is in his throat as Roman hands him another small box, this one having a set of Swarovski earrings and a matching choker. The choker has a small heart crystal in the middle, the earrings the same heart and Dean's hand is shaking. He doesn't think he's ever owned anything as sparkly and pretty as this. "'S fucking beautiful, man…" The Samoan chuckles then, kissing Dean over his eyelid before handing him a larger box.

Sin. The corset, thong, and garter belt are all the color of sin. A bright red, like fresh blood, and Dean's eyes are wide as he runs his fingers over the lace and imagines how it would feel against his cock. La Perla, the box says and Dean doesn't have to be a genius to know that translates to 'expensive Italian shit'.

"Red is your color…" Roman begins, rubbing Dean's thigh, his fingers so teasingly close to Dean's cock but not quite there. "…gonna put as much of it on you, baby girl, gonna make you my little queen of hearts tonight."

"Oh, God…" He manages to breathe out after being silent for too long, arousal and love and longing and passion and years of secrets and fleeting glances come forward as Dean surges from the counter, locking his lips with Roman. "…love you so fucking much, Daddy…always gonna be your girl." He coos to him and realizes it's the first time he's told Roman he loves him.

"Love you, too, baby…" He chuckles then, not even faltering on his feet despite Dean being firmly attached to him. "…got one last thing I want you to put on for me tonight…" He whispers, placing Dean back down before rubbing his hands between his thighs. Roman can't fully fight the urge then, gently groping Dean's half-hard cock through the towel with a smirk. That surprised little gasp and the parting of Dean's mouth making it even harder for him to pull away, handing him the last box.

Shoes. Heels. Pretty, a deep red velvet with diamond hearts on them. They're only about 3 inches, something manageable and when Dean stares at the heel for an extended period of time, Roman speaks up.

"Don't wanna wreck your feet, baby…wanna have them on you as much as possible." Dean nods in understanding, heart hammering as he realizes that being dolled up, being Roman's baby girl isn't just a one off, isn't just a special treat. It's something Roman is willing and able to give him.

"I-I…gotta get ready for you, Daddy…" He replies then, giving Ro a chaste kiss before ushering him out of the bathroom, shutting the door firmly.

"I'll be waiting, baby…" The Samoan calls through the door and Dean tosses the towel off, hand reaching for the red, lacy thong first.

* * *

The lace feels amazing against his hot flesh, the thong portion riding nice and high into his crack and he's trembling. This means so much more to him now, Roman indulging in his little fantasies, spoiling him like no one ever has. Roman already had Dean's heart. Had owned it a long time ago. Now he'd finally give him his body to complete the package.

The stockings are made of a similar material as the thong, more transparent however, and splays out nicely over Dean's muscular thighs. The garter belt sits high on his hips, but designed like it's supposed to sit there. Roman must have gotten these custom made because lingerie should not fit a man's body so well.

"Gonna be so pretty for you, Ro…" He murmurs to himself, lost in his own little fantasy as the corset zips up easily, pulling his slender waist somehow smaller. Oh, perfect for Roman to wrap his hands around and Dean knows she's stirring, that she's excited. "…c-can't wait to have you take me." He slides finishes adjusting the garter belt, making sure it's hooked into the stockings properly. Dean is breathless now, sure she's going to have a heart attack before she even gets her jewelry on. Red really did work well with his pale skin he muses as the slips the jewelry on.

Despite all this excitement, the delicious soft caress of thousand dollar lingerie, putting make up on is Dean's favorite part. He starts with the eyeliner, putting it on thick and black and decides to put wings on top as opposed to underneath, before stopping a moment.

"I should put these on, right? P-Practice giving my Daddy a show…" He slips the heels on, fitting like a goddamn glove, before turning back to his reflection and the bright lights of the bathroom's numerous mirrors.

The blue eyeshadow is absolutely stunning, glittery and vibrant in a manner that pops Dean's eyes out more than any cheap Dollar Store brand could. Crown Jewels in-fucking-deed. He follows with some pricey mascara that Roman hadn't shown him but that took his already long lashes and made them deeper, wide, and he felt so fucking pretty it ached. She was so satisfied, her arousal pooling in her stomach as he grew harder.

By the time he had gotten to use the little brush to spread blush over his chubby cheeks, his hands are shaking. He keeps it steady enough to not come out looking like a goddamn clown and now comes the best part. The lipstick. So red and rich and slutty that popping the cap off makes him groan.

"Gonna be your pretty queen, Daddy…o-oh…" He breathes out slowly, gently caressing his lips with the vibrant shade. It doesn't smear, doesn't run, and will probably take hours to come off and he fucking loves it, opting not to fill in an extra upper lip but tracing what he does have and being incredibly content with it because she knows her Daddy will fuck her nice and good.

It's like someone has put Dean through another table as he takes her in. God, he…he's made himself so pretty. Red interweaving with pale skin, eyes wide and vibrant, lashes so long and black that they look like they could cut his cheeks if he blinks too quickly. And those lips…the bottom one looking supple and like he'd bitten into someone's throat, painting himself in their blood.

"I-I'm comin' out now…" Dean calls from the bathroom, heels clicking on the pristine door as he opens it to find her Daddy, wearing nothing but a black pair of briefs, his aching cock visible through the thin material.

"Fucking Christ, baby girl…"

* * *

"D-Do you like it, Daddy?" Dean rasps out, his rough gravel of a voice such a contrast to the pricey, pretty things he wore and that very fact causes Roman's thick length to harden further.

He took in the sight of his boy, all decked out in red with heavy makeup. He decides then and there he likes this look much more, an expensive little hussy as opposed to a cheap whore and he wants nothing more than to average that pale flesh until he's sweaty and red and covered in come. But Roman knows Dean, knows he gets off on being humiliated. Roman thinks he can call him a whore, thinks he can make his sweet girl come out and play and be more comfortable with his words, but…the marks Seth left. Shoving his hand inside…Roman can't do that, can't demean Dean like that. His boy, his girl, she's beautiful and deserves love but Roman has to find a compromise and just when it hits him, a mischievous grin spreads across his thick lips that causes a shiver down Dean's spine.

"Daddy loves it, baby girl…why don't you show him the back, hmm?" He asks with a soft coo, letting out a whistle when Dean walks in circles, showing off his firm and supple ass, the thong deep within his crack and leaving little to imagination, barely covering his hole. "Damn, sweetheart. Come over here and join Daddy on this bed like a good girl?" He's cooing and Dean shifts a little as he walks, a bit hesitance in her pretty little done up face. Roman suspected as such, which is why he's damn glad fate works its way so strangely.

Dean crawls onto the bed, slowly sliding into Roman's lap and the Samoan grins, slipping his thumb between those sin red lips, the expensive lipstick not smearing at all, as the younger male begins sucking on the flesh. "That's it, baby…" He starts, getting lost in that soft, wet tongue before speaking up. "…Did you steal some of your Daddy's underwear, sweetheart?" Roman's voice innocent, nonchalant and cool and Dean freezes in his sucking, scrambling back with a guilty look and wide, blue eyes.

"I-I, I'm sorry, Daddy…o-oh…"

"Your pretty little lips were all over them…and your come was, wasn't it?" Roman's voice becomes stern for the first time that night, grabbing onto Dean's heeled ankle before he can move back any further. God, his baby girl was so hard now, nearly at full mast and stretching that price-y red lace. He loved this teasing. "Don't lie to me."

"Y-Yes, I found them in the bathroom and I wanted you, Daddy…they…" She swallows nervously then, looking down at her fingertips for a moment and wonders if fleetingly wishes for nail polish. "…they smelled like you and I wanted…I could smell your cock and I wanted it in me so badly. I just had to taste and I thought of you in me and I…I…oh God…" Dean was a little panicked sounding and Roman pulls that ball of flustered lingerie back into his lap, rubbing his stiff cock against Dean's pert little ass.

"Shh, baby…you'll get me tonight, I promise."

"Oh, God…"

"But for now, why don't you suck me, hmm?" Roman licks his bottom lip, before taking Dean into a sloppy kiss before the younger male can reply, sucking on her tongue for what seems like an eternity before she slinks off the bed, ready to get on her knees as the Samoan's legs hang off the side. "Wait a minute, honey…" And suddenly Dean is hoisted up and a pillow is settled beneath her knees and she thinks he could cry. Because oh, Roman cares so much and it makes his head swim.

"'M suck you nice and good, Daddy…" She purrs, sticking her ass out for his viewing pleasure as she sucks him down, red lips stretched. God, Roman is HUGE, his jaw straining as he hardly manages to get half of his length down before gagging. Bopping up and down and using hands to stroke the rest, Roman is quickly reduced to a snarling and panting mess. Dean's mouth is nothing short of fucking heavenly and he'd kick himself if he could for not giving his baby girl this sooner.

"That's it, damn, that fucking mouth…you were made for sucking me off, weren't you?" Roman begins petting through that reddish brown mop, hyper aware of that devilish tongue caressing the head of his cock. Then he grows bold, clutching onto those locks and when Dean doesn't protest, he begins fucking her throat in earnest, Dean's hands going at her sides as her throat and jaw burn so fucking good. "That's it, baby bitch…taking my cock so fucking good."

He keeps fucking, deep and harder and feeling the strain of Dean's neck and mouth and soon there's a gargling noise filling the room and Roman pulls back, spit and pre-cum and drool dripping out from his pretty girl's dazed face. "You like that, honey, huh?"

"Mmhmm…" Dean replies in a daze, before she's pulled up back onto the bed, pliant and aching through that red little thong, tongue licking her lips, chasing the remnants of cock.

"Knew you would…knew you could take it for me." He runs his hands up the soft, red corset, before leaning forward and sucking the material and a stiff, slutty nipple into his mouth. And there are hands clutching onto Roman's mane and a hot, needy little groan escaping his girl's lips.

"Oh fuck, Daddy…n-not those, I…" He never knew he was so sensitive there and cries out once more when the other nipple is licked and lapped, the previously suckled one being tugged on by massive fingers.

Roman grins up at him, seeing that blissed out, glazed expression in Dean's eyes…the same he'd seen in that picture of 'her' he had saved. He'd done that, not that fucking weasel Rollins. He's made his sweet girl so happy and the night had only just begun. But Roman was feeling impeccably possessive and needed his girl to only need him. "Maybe we should pierce these lil' pink nipples, babe…" Dean whines, nodding his head to a nearly violent level. "…you like that idea, huh? Give you some clamps, too…fucking slut. My lil slutty girl."

"Yeah, yeah…" Hot and wet and filthy as Roman greedily swallows up her rambling, biting at that bottom lip this time before trailing down, kissing into the stitching from when she was him and he was fighting for his life. As their tongues and mouths tangle together in a wet smack of spit and pre-cum, Roman tasting himself for the first time, he snakes and hand down and tugs are her cock, finding the lace thoroughly damp with pre-cum. "D-Daddy!" She gasps then, sucking in a much needed deep breath.

"All I did was fuck your throat, darlin', and you're already so fucking wet…" It's a snarl, but not one of disgust or discontent. No, this is lust and desire and deep, rumbling want deep in Roman's very core. "…I think it's about time I tasted that pretty little pussy of yours, hmm?"

"Oh God, please…" Dean's delirious now, head lolling back with his eyes a distant gaze, hips twitched at each feather light brushing of Roman's fingers over her cock.

"Lay back, baby girl…" Another pillow this time, used to keep Dean's shivering hips up at an angle and Roman spreads his thighs wide. They're trembling, too, Dean feeling hot and exposed and hiding her face in her hands. "…oh, honey, don't hide…Daddy wants to see your face went he tastes this pretty lil' fuckhole…" A groan then and Dean manages to slide his hands down to the bed, clutching at the silken sheets before Roman spreads his legs even farther, licking and sucking at the meat of his thighs through that soft, pretty pretty lace.

Dean nearly flies off the bed when he feels a wet, wide slide across his hole. God, Roman's tongue is so fucking big. "Be good for me, baby…I know you can be." He coos then, petting at Dean's flat stomach before beginning to lap again, opening his girl's sweet little cunt one lick at a time. Soon that tongue is inside, then two fingers and Dean is a sobbing mess as she comes in her panties, completely untouched when Roman scissors his fingers just so, brushing her pleasure spot inside and his tongue travels just so over her rim.

"Fuck, Daddy, oh fuck!" She's sobbing now, hands thoroughly buried in her face because she feels bad. She came and he didn't say she could and now she's ruined their special night and "'M sorry, Daddy. I was a bad slut. I came and, and…"

"Oh, honey…" Roman hovers over him, then, pulling her hands away from his face and sucking at her jawline to calm the younger male down. "…you did so good, came so sweetly for your Daddy…" And a hand is around Dean's throat, rubbing at his pulse point before a kiss is given to the stubbly point where jaw turns into neck and then another peck to his Adam's apple. "…I'm glad you did, but now I think this sweet little cunt of yours is ready for my cock, isn't she?"

"Y-Yeah…" He sniffles after a moment, staring down at the older male with pure disbelief. Roman is massive, a thick vein curls up his caramel-colored cock, nearly twice as wide as Seth and at least an inch longer and Dean was going to take it up his slutty, greedy little hole like a good bitch and love it. "…w-want you inside of her so bad. She…she needs it so deep…p-please…fuck my slutty cunt good, Daddy. Fill me up good with your come. I need…I need it."

Roman kisses his temple then, his shaky breath the only indication of the shit Dean's filthy mouth was doing to him. But he was excited, fully resolved now as he slid off the bed, sliding his briefs off fully now, aching cock damn near vertical as he rummaged through his carryon, pulling out a tube of lube and turning back to look at his baby girl. Her makeup was still seemingly flawless save for a small smear of mascara under her right eye, both eyes glassy with arousal and excited, pink traveling down her chest, a white and wet stain between her legs, mingling with the red of soft panties. She was already half hard again, chest heaving and sweet, small bottom lip being chewed into as she anticipated her Daddy's next touch.

"Damn, baby girl…you so fucking pretty…" He hums then and Dean blushes, shaking his head slightly. "…yes you are, honey…so gorgeous for me…" Crawling on all fours, those silver eyes possessing a deadly glint as he shoves three fingers in, copiously covered in lube, rubbing against the younger male's prostate rapidly, the wet slide of his fingers working to stretch and relax that rim filling both their ears.

"'M ready for you, Daddy…good and wet, I…I can take your cock, oh, please!" Dean's overwhelmed then, the words sounding foreign to his own ears because there was amount of control there, Dean begging to take what he wanted, but demanding it in a manner and Roman grins then.

"I'll give you it, sweet heart."

Even through Dean's lust driven mind, he's still perplexed as Roman resituates them, sliding that lithe, sexy little body on top of his. Roman's broad chest is strong and supportive against Dean's back and he doesn't question the position, still able to reach and suck on those thick lips, trace those intricate tattoos with a trembling finger. His thong is stretched over his thigh now, hole expose and quivering and dripping spit and lube and he just NEEDS and suddenly there's a high whine coming from his throat. "P-Please…please…"

"Shh, shh…" Roman slots his legs underneath Dean's knees, leaving him spread and exposed and oh so fucking delectable. "…I got you, baby girl, I'm gonna give it to you good." He purrs then, before wrapping one arm around Dean's inhumanely small waist to support his trembling form, another snaking to his throat and giving a tight squeeze as the blunt, wide head of his cock slides inside.

Dean's never in his life been fucked like this. As soon as Roman slides in balls deep he's going wild, the wet slap of cock in that pink hole causing Dean's eyes to roll back in his head, eyelids fluttering as she's stretched and fucked like Roman is starved for it, starved to be inside. And maybe he has been.

"Best pussy I've ever had…" Roman growls, his mind turning into an animalistic as he begins pounding, thrusting up and in to the encouraging moans of his much smaller partner. "…sweet little boypussy takes this dick so damn good, doesn't it?" The word boypussy made Dean shudder, hitting a slick, hot and dirty part in the recesses of his mind as two quick thrusts fill him up and leave him empty, back and forth as the pleasure builds. That shudder doesn't go unnoticed by Roman and he leans in close, unrelenting in the bucking of his hips as Dean's thighs are spread wider with those brutal humps. "You like that, huh? Like me talking about your boy cunt, hmm?" He likes the entire side of Dean's stubbly face, make up and all and Dean gasps out at that, pre-cum coming in thick ribbons now.

"Fuck, yes, yes, Daddy, oh God…oh fuck…your boy cunt, your boy pussy…all yours!" And Roman knows his baby girl is there, right where she needs to be and she's so close and he's got one last surprise for her. Knows she likes to look and feel pretty and show it off. Not vain, no, but loving the dirty bad wrong of his body in pretty clothes, in pretty whore make up.

"Look up for me, baby girl, look up…" It's soft and Roman whispers it like a secret in her ear and Dean does, a choked noise bubbling past her lips as Roman fucks her harder, hips a blur behind Dean in the mirror. So, this was why he'd booked the room, the ceiling mirror giving Dean a perfect view of himself and Roman fucking like their lives depended on it. Dean was all soft lace, cock looking painfully aching and strained under silk, his hips and waist even smaller with the tightly fitting corset, make up still damn near perfect in his blissed out expression. Dean was soft. Dean was pretty. Dean was her. And her Daddy, well…he was nude, all strong bronze skin and muscles, his arm flexing as it clenches around her throat loosely, pulling her hips in tight as he keeps fucking into her tight hole.

"Oh, fuck, Ro!" Dean groans out, spilling into her new underwear once more with a full body tremor, legs spread and his toes clenching in perfect-fit velvet heels.

Roman stops for a moment, cock twitching deep inside that sweet channel and Dean is grasping at the muscle of his arms. "Don't stop, Daddy, don't stop fucking me…" And Roman continues then in earnest, Dean's blue eyes widening as he continue staring into the ceiling mirror, seeing that fat cock, nearly as wide as his own wrist, disappear into is hungry, grasping little cunt.

Roman doesn't stop fucking him, even as Dean comes dry, his cock trying it's hardest get stiff again, but resolves to spittle out weak strings of come. Then he comes dry again. And again. And he's sweaty and stretched wide and delirious and rambling in pleasure about Roman's thick cock, how his Daddy is so big and fat for him and ruined his dirty little hole and it will belong to no one else. That 'no one else' is what tips Roman over, fucking Dean through the wet squelch of his own orgasm, even continuing as his own come drips out, making sure to fill his baby girl as much as possible.

"Ro, Ro…" Dean is panting then, kissing at him as he feels so right, she feels so right, so sated. "…love you so much, love you…what did I do to deserve you?"

"Oh baby boy…" Roman coos, his own fingers shaking as he comes down from his orgasm high, brushing sweat slick hair out of Dean's face, giving the shell of his ear a kiss. "…you've always been more than worthy of me."


End file.
